


Green

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [210]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>St. Patrick's Day at Luke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laura_McEwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_McEwan/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting to the MA List  
> Travis for posting to the MA Archive on AO3  
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia
> 
> Related stories:  
> [St. Patrick's Play](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1793587)  
> [Charming](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1843609)

Green.

The color of his laddie's eyes when he was about to come.

Quinn closed his own eyes and could see the exact shade of emerald beneath his lids. When they made love, he would sometimes keep his own eyes open by force of will, just so he could bask in that amazing color once more. Luckily, now he was seated behind the desk at his Luke office, which made it easier to put the brakes on any physical reaction that was likely to arise from such a vision.

Nothing like St. Patrick's Day to make his thoughts drift so delightfully. Here he was daydreaming when he was supposed to be grading an exam on Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past." The irony did not escape him. All he needed was a madeleine, and he would be off on an over ten-year journey of his memories of life with Ian.

Quinn chuckled at his Proustian vision, and his stomach growled as he looked at his watch. Fortunately, Ian's last class of the day had just ended and, since it was downstairs in Room YT-2400, he would probably be coming up the corridor any minute now, unless he was blockaded by a group of needy students. Then they had a date with Case, Ethan, and Evan for their traditional St. Paddy's Day celebration at Farrell's Pub downtown.

He had already hung his stuffy button-down teaching shirt on the hook by the door and changed into his Skyhawks sweatshirt, a holiday-themed one that the team sold to fundraise for local charities. It was green, of course, with the Luke Skyhawk mascot emblazoned on the front, wearing a four-leaf clover around its neck on a golden chain. Ian's matching sweatshirt was waiting for him, neatly draped over the back of his chair.

Despite being in his office, Quinn didn't mind that the holiday fell on a Monday this year; a pint of Guinness went down even better after a full day of work, after all. And now, he and Ian could enjoy their stout without guilt; Guinness had just joined Sam Adams and Heineken in dropping out of the sponsorship of St. Patrick's Day parades -- such as New York and Boston's -- which were not inclusive of LGBT groups.

He and Ian had already celebrated with their family over the weekend, so their jaunt this evening was pure gravy. Lelia had made her uncles a drawing of a rainbow shimmering over a green meadow, which was now on their corkboard by the door. Their little niece was developing into quite an artist.

Luckily, he reflected, nine weeks had already passed in the semester, and spring break was just around the corner. This year, with Kathy and Monty's 15th wedding anniversary on April 15th, they were planning on taking a cruise over the vacation, for an early celebration of their big day.

Instead of going back to his Proust exams, this time Quinn's thoughts drifted to their upcoming cruise. His favorite holidays so far had been spent at sea. Even as the LGBT community was gaining all sorts of victories on land, he still relished the complete freedom he felt on the ocean with his lad. Somehow, the intimate confines of a ship had proven to be the great equalizer for them.

His keen ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the hallway. His lad might be returning to him already.

* * *

Green.

His husband's favorite color and a ubiquitous one today. Quinn's Irish heritage and personal taste joined seamlessly.

One of the things Ian savored most about St. Patrick's Day was the chance to be a part of the Masterson clan's festivities; he had loved every Moment of their party on Sunday. Today, he'd enjoyed teaching even more than usual, what with students and faculty dressed in festive green for the holiday. Even the grass in the quad finally had become greener after shedding its winter-long brownish hue.

As he strode down the hall to join Quinn in their office, Ian could practically feel the little shamrock on his keychain vibrating with happiness on its favorite day of the year. He had treasured the charm since Quinn had given it to him ten years ago, knowing that it was a gift also from Quinn's grandmother, Mary Kathleen, who he had not been privileged to meet.

She had told Quinn that the shamrock would lead him to his own true love someday, and indeed it had done so. Quinn had been carrying it in his slacks pocket on that monumental day in May 2003 when they had met on the train to Massachusetts, preparing to attend a symposium on Tolkien's wizards at Mace University in Windover.

Ian patted his pocket as he walked along the corridor; the little shamrock appreciated the sudden warmth of Ian's hand pressed against it.

* * *

"Hey, Quinn," Ian sang out as he turned the key in the lock, making sure to pet the tiny charm before he put the keychain away.

"Hello, laddie," Quinn answered, his brogue deepening on this most Irish of days. He rose to greet his husband properly. Just a peck on the lips, since they were at work, but that was enough to put a smile on both of their faces.

"How's the grading going, ma gradh?" (my husband) Ian reached up to smooth a lock of hair away from Quinn's forehead. He liked feeling the heavy texture of Quinn's sweatshirt -- a rarity at work -- against his cotton shirt.

"Haven't gotten all that much done," answered Quinn truthfully.

"Daydreaming again?" Ian said with a grin.

"You know me so well, lad." Quinn caressed Ian's dimple with the pad of his thumb.

Ian reached out to press his own thumb on top of Quinn's, keeping it there a little longer. "Care to tell me about it?" Bright curiosity danced green in his eyes.

"When we get home, Ian," Quinn said, reluctance in each word.

Ian got the hint and disentangled from his husband. He went to his desk to drop off his lecture notes, then decided to do something that perhaps he shouldn't have -- change into his own St. Paddy's sweatshirt in the office. He started to undo the buttons on his shirt, with Quinn's eyes growing wider as each one was unfastened. Ian grinned up insouciantly at him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to begin a striptease in the office.

"Laddie!" Quinn's voice held an unusual blend of admonition and encouragement, as if he himself could not decide whether to stop Ian or beg him to continue with his antics.

Of course, that was no deterrent for Ian, who could hear Quinn's encouragement ring out loud and clear, just as he ignored the rest of Quinn's vibe. He would never use the eroticism he would bring into play at home, but he was not above a little teasing.

Ian walked back to his husband, his shirt half-opened now. Somehow, that was more tantalizing to Quinn than having the shirt completely off.

"Just put the sweatshirt on already, Ian." Quinn's voice was low and beseeching. "Please!" Taking a deep breath, he had to tamp down his natural impulses for the second time in the last fifteen minutes.

Ian took pity on him. "It is a trifle cold in here, isn't it?" he said mischievously. He finished undoing the buttons efficiently, all business now. But he made one concession to his fiery nature. Just before he turned away from Quinn to retrieve his sweatshirt from his chair, he let his skin graze against his herven's stomach.

Even though Quinn was wearing a winter-weight sweatshirt, he could feel Ian's warmth along his own skin, as if he only had on his lightest cotton tee. He couldn't suppress an involuntary shiver.

Ian caught his eye, his gaze pure green mischief, then finally put on his sweatshirt.

"You're incorrigible, laddie." Quinn sighed in relief, as well as fond frustration.

Ian could only nod in agreement as they got their coats on for their party at Farrell's. "But you love me anyway," he said, rock-solid certainty strengthening his voice. "Just as I love you."

"That I do, mo fearcheile, that I do." All bundled up now, Quinn found it easier to kiss his lad without it leading to pleasures better savored at home. His crinkles came out for the holiday as he opened the door.

They could hear Case's laughter in the corridor and happily joined in the jokes. Time to enjoy their tenth St. Patrick's Day as a couple, made even better by the camaraderie of their friends.


End file.
